I am feeling this irrational urge to be a hermit. To be fair I helped my mom make ribs, mashed potatoes, chocolate éclairs, a chocolate tart and homemade iced cream sandwiches. It turned out to be an all day undertaking and I am exhausted. After I collapsed into a diabetic coma. We ex patriots used the Fourth of July as an excuse to eat ribs. Mmm delicious ribs. Plus I was hopped up on cold medicine till the wee hours of the morning.
I have been addicted to failblog recently. I feel like if I had a working camera I could make a failblog of random things during my day (not always things I am doing). That thought makes me both happy and sad.
Speaking of failure, I have been trying to brainstorm my next column and what keeps coming up is writing something about my horrible land of single. I worry that if I do that the cool thread I am barely hanging on by will be completely severed. It is one thing for your blog friends to know that you haven’t gotten any since…fuck August no wait September. But still Jesus broadcasting that in a printed publication for a quarter million lesbians is like sealing your fate in wax. How vulnerable do I want to be? I have already admitted to my inability to g-spot orgasm, should I talk about my repeated dating failure as well? What do I even say? I can call it “Everyone is Crazy but me, a single girls guide to self-preserving denial…” or “You’re a fucking liar you hate being single as much as I do hippy” or maybe just simply “Vibrators don’t cuddle.”
I can include in my ’successes’ getting much older men and much younger men to want to have sex with me (I am not amused). Also men who have partners have been also persistent in telling me how awesome I am and how they would do me in a second if it weren’t for that pesky wife/girlfriend. Other ’successes’ include apparently being so intimidatingly hot no single guy wants to talk to me unless it is perhaps the middle of the night on a Saturday/ Friday and they are drunk loitering outside of a club with a group of their friends. Then I get to hear “Aw yeah hello my African princess,” or “Oh shit guys that’s that girl from Sneaky Sound System.” If it’s even later in the evening it could just be “Ay! Ay!” or a simple “Your fucking hot can I come with you?” Also sometimes I get Macy Gray. Macy Fucking Gray!! One I look nothing like her. Two she is not exactly a person I aspire to look like. At least Sneaky Sound Sytem chick is cuter than me so it’s a compliment, however misguided and racist…
And finally the guys (not talking about women at all just guys here) I have dated during my life time have these as reasons not to continue doing so: 1. I’m gay but I will say we should just be friends and not admit to all the butt sex I am having on the DL 2. I am not over my ex but I will say it’s because you are too shy/there is no chemistry despite our hot and heavy make out session where I wanted to rip your clothes off 3. You’re not ‘athletic’ enough for me (this is when I was 65 kilos which is average for my height) what I mean by ‘not athletic enough’ is I am basically a cunt. 4. I do ‘like you’ but for some reason can’t be bothered with calling you 5. I am bat shit crazy which means I will lead you on for an extended period of time and then when we get close to any real issues I will pretend I don’t know you. and my personal favorite 6. I am beyond bat shit crazy which means I have freaked you out so much with my level of intensity/insanity that you actually have to dump me and possibly change your phone number and email and block me on Facebook.
So I am picturing this piece as a real sort of uplifting…inspirational sort of thing. But mom says I should write about what I know and sadly things I know about lately include: grad school, sick mothers, being broke, loneliness, wondering if I am in fact a loser, and mysterious weight loss. Speaking of which I am going to go have some ribs now.
